Birds Flying High, You Know How I Feel
by everyone'ssister
Summary: On the other side of the nation for a hunt John books a flight for his sons so the boys can join him. Dean is less than thrilled. WEE!CHESTERS (teen!chesters) Warning for fluff
1. Chapter 1

_For my faithful follower Lenail125_

BIRDS FLYING HIGH, YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL

(Sam is thirteen, Dean is seventeen.)

Chapter 1.

It's fall. Finally. North Carolina's heat is punishing, to put it mildly. Dean's spent whole days staked out on the Arizona flatlands but that dry heat had nothing on the muggy hell of the Carolinas and their swamps and grasslands. Every breath felt like taking in weighted molecules to his body, made him pant and feel faint where anywhere else he'd only be on his first wind.

Sam hated it. He ran even hotter than Dean. His shirts plastered to his body by sweat 24/7, his hair dripping with perspiration, long bangs sticking to his forehead and giving him pimples Dean teases him about. Dean finds Sam in nothing but his underwear studying away under the ceiling fan more often then not.

Sam had gone back to school early August when the air was so hot and thick that his older brother doesn't even know how his brain is still functioning. Dean opts out on his last of high school and buys a GED study book from a thrift store instead. They aren't going to be here for much longer. And for once Sam is just fine with that.

The boys will never look back with longing to their seven months spent in North Carolina...except for maybe those few days on the beach, that had been awesome. Though they almost got kicked off for the fire they had built. (Dean grins all teeth at that memory...Sammy was a teenager now and they got up to endless, rebellious no good together.)

Now the air grows cool, hinted with the scent of molting leaves and the boys can hardly believe this is the same place. The roads are lined with stands selling pumpkins and squash and Indian corn, the boy's favorite little cafe starts selling pecan pie on top of their usual apple and a pumpkin spice coffee that the Winchester boys, without fail, begin their every day with.

Thanks to his small salary, Dean takes Sam to the rinky dink county fair and buys him a caramel apple, because even he knows that red stuff is terrible for your teeth. He follows Sam around letting the kid get the excitement out of his system.

Now that the cool was here Sam's energy is back in full. His eyes sparkling with mischief and intelligence once again...the last stop of the glorious day is a little cabin that serves the best apple cider at the fair, or so they say.

The sun is gone, the evening growing pretty chilly and the stars begin to come out brighter than they've been in a long time. Sam is shivering as Dean comes back with two steaming cups of cider and they both sit backwards on a picnic table with their backs leaning against the table top.

Sam flashes him his sweet grin and wraps his scrawny fingers around the warm stirofoam cup, holding it up so the steam hits him full in the face. He sighs along with a moan of satisfaction as he lets the hot liquid into his mouth and run down his throat. Dean smiles down at him as he sips his own...if Sam was cold you know Dean was freezing.

Graceful as ever Sam nearly drops the flimsy paper cup on his next drink and sputters as the cider drips from the sides of his mouth and down is chin onto his jacket.

"Shit." He hisses, shaking his hand to ride it of the sticky, sweet drink that had got on his skin.

Dean raises a brow at the curse word but says nothing, simply sips again from his own cup. "Need a baby wipe?" He asks casually.

Sam flashes him the bird scowling as he takes another drink, chokes because it's too hot and he took too big of a swallow. "No thanks MOM."

"Just making sure sweetie." Dean shoots back effortlessly and Sam shoves him.

Dean catches himself from falling from the bench but snorts the hot, spicy drink up his nose. He jumps up coughing, laughing with Sam until he comes to sit down again and stomps hard on Sam's toes.

Sam yelps and Dean smiles sunnily down into his frown, "Oh sorry about that little bro. Couldn't see your minuscule foot there."

"Ugh." Sam huffs, rolling his eyes. Gives up and instead just concentrates on not making a mess while he drinks.

The silence sits between them comfortably, as they watch the bright lights and the people still milling about happily. They are contented. A good day finishing up with a good ending. Dean knows all to well that's usually when it all goes to shit.

He shakes off the uneasy feeling and simply watches his little brother out of the corner of his eye. He's been trying to dial back on the whole watchful eye thing since Sam's birthday and the kid has become more aware and independent...or he thinks he has.

He complains Dean hovers too much and watches too much, making him feel uncomfortable around his friends. Though what friends he's taking about Dean's not sure. He thinks of the month they've been here without their father, and it's been good. A vacation they both needed, even though Dean's had work and Sam's had school, but John was a force all his own. With him came an intensity that kept Sam and Dean tense like wires.

That told on a kid after so long. And Dean had liked how much lighter and carefree Sam had come to be just within weeks. He himself knows what it's like as a child to be forced to bear burdens no kid should have to, and god, he wanted to bear as many of them for Sam as long as he could.

"You're doing it again." Sam states.

"Huh?" Dean asks, breaking from his thoughts.

"You're doing it again," Sam reiterates, only sounding slightly peeved. "Thinky starey, big brother stalking thing you do."

Dean clears his throat covering a laugh. "Sorry."

Sam shrugs. "You're also trying to feel bad about missing dad, it's not working."

It's Dean's turn to huff and roll his eyes. "Whatever, you wizard."

"Pfft." Sam laughs. "You can't hide anything from me Dean, cuz you let down that cautious thing you do when we hang out."

The kid is so frustratingly, adorably, astoundingly smart.

"I can stop if you want."Dean says softly, thinking maybe seeing all Dean's fears and doubts, and undecided feelings towards their dad might be too much for Sam.

"Nah." Sam says, looking off into the lights of the fair. "It's okay. That's the way it should be right? I'm your brother."

"Yeah." Dean agrees, wrapping an arm around Sam's neck and pulling him in for a hug. Sam fights him, glaring at Dean when he ruffles his hair. Sam smooths it back as he pulls away from Dean and sits straight again, sighing deep.

"Thanks for today, Dee." He says softly, not looking him in the eyes. "It was good."

And those three words might not mean much to regular people but when one of the boys say it it means something special. Because days that are simply 'good' are few and far between. It's the highest of compliments and warms Dean's heart through and through. He looks down to Sam with a genuine smile shaping his lips, reaching his eyes making the green flash and twinkle.

"It _was_ good." He returns. The Winchester brothers finish up their cider looking up to the stars, little do they know they are shaping a habit that will last the rest of their lives.

...

Dean can hear the phone ringing through the door when he and Sam get back to the apartment. Dammit. That would be their dad. And he'd be pissed at not being answered. He hurries with his keys, ends up dropping them, they stand listening to the last ring and it goes silent just as Dean turns the key and the door swings open on its creaking hinges.

"That was probably dad." Sam, ever helpful, supplies as he walks into the apartment and dumps his backpack on the couch before going into the bathroom. Dean hears the shower running almost immediately, and the older Winchester sighs at the thought of a hot shower right now.

"Thanks for the moral support, Sammy." He grumbles through a wry grin because it's exactly what he himself would of done.

Instead he rubs his nose in attempts to get some warmth back into it and stalks towards the phone. Dialing their father, readying his ears for the tearing of a new one. It's only one ring before the phone is answered.

"Dean."

"Dad, hey."

"Where were you?"

"Just out walking with Sammy."

"It's Sam, the boy's thirteen now Dean."

"Yes sir." Dean answers.

"I thought I told you boys to stay in at night."

"Yes sir, you did." Dean assents, closing his eyes and shaking his head, _don't say it, don't say it._ "But we can't stay cooped up all the time, we just wanted to get some fresh air...the ventilation in this place is crap."

"You have a roof over your head." John states severely. "What would have done if you and Sam had been jumped or if a vamp had attacked you out of nowhere or if..."

"I would have handled it." Dean says firmly, and he and John both feel the conviction in his statement.

John grunts grumpily.

"So listen up." John demands, "I'm in Washington state on a vamp gig." Ah, that explains the vampire attack comment. "I booked you boys a flight for tomorrow morning at 10:30. Pack everything you can fit into your duffles and come on. Give my name at the desk and they'll have your tickets."

"A flight?" Dean asks vaguely, totally blindsided by the turn of events.

"Yeah, like on a plane." John supplies drily.

And Dean swallows thickly. "Why don't we just drive, me and Sam could knock it out in a just a few days."

"And you have a car." John states sarcastically and Dean grips his fist anger.

"I would if you hadn't taken her!" He bursts back.

"Dean, you know the truck was screwed up from that last hunt, there was no way around it."

"I don't want to fly, dad."

"Tough luck." John returns flatly, Dean's obvious anger and discomfort meaning nothing. "Don't miss it, or I'll be pissed and I mean pissed for real...Dean?!"

"Yeah yeah." Dean grumbles, "We'll be there...Sam's not gonna be happy about leaving he just started school."

John laughs, "He's a thirteen year old boy, when is he happy?"

Dean doesn't take to that view at all. Each person should strive for happiness, you yourself should strive for happiness for the people around you...especially your family regardless of their age. He runs a hand over his face, fingers around the corner of his suddenly dry mouth.

"We'll see you soon."

"Don't forget to return the key and let the landlord know you're gone."

"Yeah." Dean answers non committedly and hangs up.

He's screwed. So screwed, screwed right up to the sky, he laughs in the poor taste of his joke.

Dean hates heights always has...he's never taken the time of self exploration to completely trace it back to one event. He doesn't like being afraid of things. This brutal terror that paralyzes him at the mere thought of flying was a terrible weakness. Something that could cost he and Sam their lives someday.

Perhaps it was because of the way his mother died, the fire starting in the upstairs room...he can see it plain as day. _Running out the front door with Sam in his arms and into the front yard, looking up to the second story and seeing the windows burst out, shattering as the flames licked out of the room and out the window._

 _Her screams of agony ripped through the stillness of the night and filled Dean's mind with terror and confusion. He tried to covers Sam's ears who had started crying, tried to spare his baby brother...he listened until finally the screams turned into barely discernible hoarse sobs when she couldn't scream though shredded vocal chords anymore. It took nearly a full twenty minutes until the boy realized his mother wasn't coming out..._

Now that Dean is older he knows she had suffered the worst of deaths. Had felt the flames burn and boil her flesh and blood away until she was nothing but charred bone and ash that blew away in the morning wind. Yeah, that could easily be where his aversion to heights and flying started.

There was no control up so high, in a tin can up in the air vulnerable to any attack...he shivers at the unpredictability of planes and flying. Dean believed in what he could see and feel, what he could shoot, stab and kill...he was a protector. But up there? He was powerless, he was just as vulnerable as everyone else.

Sam comes out of the bathroom, hair wet and skin pink, goosebumps rising in waves as he struggles into pajama pants that are sticking to his wet skin. "What did he want?"

"You're not gonna like this..." Dean starts.

 _Not anywhere as much as me though..._

...tbc

Here we go guys! Can't wait! Poor Dean:(:(:( REVIEW!? ;););)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

Dean's right Sam doesn't like it. Only because they have to do what John says but still packing with a teenager dragging their feet. Not fun. Sam crams all his favorite books into his backpack and duffle instead of clothes and shoes so Dean has to discreetly repack for him. He sits slumped down in the couch staring at the TV moodily as Dean grabs their most important belongings from around the little apartment that has been their home for the last seven months.

"Ever think about just running, just letting dad kiss your ass?" Sam asks when Dean slumps down at the opposite end of the couch.

"All the time." Dean mumbles.

"Then why don't we?" Because he knows Dean would never leave him, ever.

"Because he's our dad, family. And it's not what mom would want."

Sam bites the inside of his mouth and says nothing else. Dean knows in his young mind that's not enough, that in Sam's mind they'd be better off on their own. And who knows? Maybe they would be. But they'll never find out because Dean will never go for it.

"It was just getting tolerable here too." Sam pouts and Dean laughs drily.

"Yeah reckon dad could sense all that fun we were having?"

"Probably." Sam snorts and they both laugh quietly.

"This is my first time flying." Sam says

Dean shrugs, "You'll be fine." He swallows, "Thousands of people do it every day."

"I'm not scared." Sam states, "Just always wanted to is all."

Dean smirks and throws Sam a blanket, they cuddle up on their perspective ends of the couch, dozing off in front of the low humming TV, cold feet meeting in the middle for shared warmth.

...

The morning comes all too soon for Dean. The early sunlight comes through the front windows and lays across his eyelids rousing him. He blinks in the bright light and runs hands down his face in a dry scrub, hoping beyond hopes when he moves his hands and his eyes open it's a different day, a different time...a different earth.

No such luck for Winchesters, least of all Dean. He stands up from the couch groggily and adds his blanket to Sam's since it's pretty chilly in the room. He puts on coffee and calls the landlord, saying he'd leave the key under the mat and that whatever they leave behind is all his. Not that anybody would want whatever junk Sam and Dean accumulated while they were there.

He showers, changes clothes and shaves because the way you look has a impact on your day no matter how small...Dean hopes it'll have an impact on him. As he pulls the hunter green t-shirt over his head he stares at himself in the mirror, takes in the wide eyes in his white sharp- featured face.

He can feel the anxiety building up inside him, like a sea getting angrier and angrier waves crashing and reaching new heights every moment. His body is alive with energy, and his muscles are tight with tension. Too bad there's no time for a run or workout this morning so he could sweat out some of his anxiety and stress.

As it is he squares his shoulders at himself in the mirror and opens the door to find Sam half asleep at the table shoveling a huge bowl of lucky charms into his mouth at an astonishing rate. He gives Dean a lazy grin and a grunt as a good morning, sighs contentedly as he smells in the steam of the big cup of coffee Dean sets in front of him.

Dean sits across from him as usual. They both bask in their last moments here in this house they made a home for a short time. They bask in the quietness and peace of their life without John...it would soon be over. Dean sighs again at that, and tries not to think about everything waiting for them in Washington...the jobs for him, the frustration for Sam...they'd get little time together and even less support.

They have this thing they do. A sort of tradition. On the last night or morning at a house or an apartment, they share their favorite part with each other. It was something they'd done ever since Sam can remember. It was the boys way of coping and saying goodbye, of fighting the pain of having their tender roots yanked up again.

This apartment faced the rising sun and there was something about the way the sun lit up the front rooms in the morning that was bright and hopeful. The blinds allowed the sunlight to cast stripes all over the furniture and their skin as they ate in silence.

"So what is it?" Dean asks, mumbling through a full mouth, "What's your favorite thing this time?"

Sam cocks his head to the side, that big brain working slow so soon after he woke up. He takes another bite before he can be troubled to answer.

"I liked me and you here. I like how dad left us here...I like the..." He makes a flat motion with his hand, "I liked us just living, one day at a time. Not you running somewhere on dad's beck and call, not you getting in trouble to help someone else. That's what I liked." They'd be losing that freedom as soon as they got to John.

Dean blinks and then smiles widely, ruffles Sam's hair affectionately.

"How about you?" His little brother asks, slurping as he inhales his morning dose of caffeine.

Dean hums and holds out his hand over the table top, the sun falling in stripes over his skin. "Well...other than what you said." He grins at Sam, because of course Sam would say something that couldn't be topped. "I liked this."

Sam holds out his hand too and watches how the light falls in lines over their skin, how the light seeps through even the tiniest cracks and lights up the darkness for them. "Yeah." He says smiling, "Yeah me too..."

...

They grab their bags and an old taxi to the airport that Dean's afraid they'll die in, but not nearly as scared as flying makes him. He chokes over a thank you and paying the driver because inside he's screaming _'take me away from here as fast as you can!'_

He and Sam stand for a few moments getting their bearings, Dean swallowing around the lump in his throat and keeping his breakfast down. It's a clear morning. The sky blue and the clouds fluffy and white. Birds are flying overhead and calling to each other in the mostly quiet airport. It's deceivingly safe looking, Dean thinks vehemently.

Sam pulls him inside gaping at everything, his eyes and giant brain taking in everything new and cataloging it away for later. He stands looking at the maps as Dean goes to the desk to get their tickets.

"Will you boys be alright by yourselves?" The woman at the desk asks, watching Sam with a motherly smile.

"Yes ma'am, we'll be fine." Dean lies expertly, "Our dad travels a lot for work so we do too."

"Alright, have a nice flight." She says, and Dean thinks that's like saying _have a nice death, boys_.

He goes back to his little brother who begins to explain to him their route, which he's figured out by himself in the last thirty seconds. Dean shakes his head fondly and looks for a bathroom, because seriously he can feel sweat running down his spine. He gives Sam some money to buy snacks for the flight and then makes a beeline for the bathroom.

It's one of those single ones, so he locks the door and turns on the water. Splashing his face and breathing deep. He stares at himself in the mirror, tries to look resolute.

"C'mon Dean, you can do this. You have to do this."

And that almost makes it worse. He has to. There's no choice, there's no backing out. There's no way for to punch or fight his way out of this one. There's no one to save or protect...just himself terrified while being completely safe in theory.

"You can do this for Sam." He says. "Do it for Sammy."

He places one of his hands on his chest feeling his heart hammering way too fast. Hell, they weren't even boarding yet and he was close to a panic attack. He turns away from the mirror breathing through his nose and the other hand gripping a fistful of hair. He can't even watch this moment of weakness himself.

"Thousands of people do it everyday, Thousands of people do it everyday..." he repeats to himself over and over.

There was nothing to fear it was completely irrational, and for Dean, inexcusable.

He feels frustrated tears pricking his eyes, and rubs them hard with his fingers. "I'm such a sissy." He whispers with a nervous laugh.

"What's wrong with you Dean? You've been through way crazier crap than this, so put on your big boy pants and let's do this!"

"Dean c'mon!" Sam yells, banging on the door, "They just announced our flight, c'mon time to board!"

 _This is not going to end well..._ Dean thinks, _and that's putting it mildly_.

...tbc

Thanks for reading! Oh dear dean, plz be alright :(:(:( REVIEW!? :):):):)

 _To a guest Black Panther; thank you so much for your sweet review! It meant the world to me...I'm so humbled and thankful even if I only make one person's day when I post! I love you so much, thank you again and again! ;);):):)_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

They are on the plane. Shit. On a plane. Dean is going to die. Sam is oblivious, wide eyes covering the new scenes, and hungrily taking in all the new experiences. They shuffle down the narrow aisle between seats and sit where the flight attendant indicated. Dean is more than happy to let Sam have the window seat.

Dean can feel the engines rumbling beneath them, preparing to take off, and as the door shuts and air locks, he can feel his chest getting tighter and tighter. Even though his mind is telling him everything is alright, and that logically they're going to be fine...the rest of his instincts are screaming that he and his little brother are about to die.

His fingers dig into the arms of his chair as the captain announces their take off. Here goes nothing...the worst day of Dean's life. Then they start moving and hell, Dean is terrified. The bouncing, the rising speed building and building and then nothing...

Silence and stillness except for the faint humming of the engines. They are air borne...flying. The ground is drifting away and with every foot they rise the tighter Dean's chest grows as he thinks of all the empty air between him, his little brother, and the ground.

Falling, falling, falling...its all he can think, he chokes on an attempt to breathe, his chest catching painfully every time he tries to get new air...he's hyperventilating, spots already dancing over his vision, roaring in his ears, a terrifying lightness in his head that he can't control.

Then there's two small hands pressed to his chest and he looks up with wide, wet eyes at his little brother. Sam sits with his knees in his seat, surprised eyes on him as he presses his hands to Dean's heaving chest. His mouth shapes one word. _Breathe_.

Everything else around Dean silences, his entire world focusing on Sammy. His beautiful brave little brother. Fox-like slanted eyes meeting his straight on with confidence, the hands on his chest knowing exactly what he's doing forcing Dean to slow down and feel every single breath he takes under the pressure of Sam's hands.

His mouth is pulling up in a reassuring smile, and showing Dean his inner strength, _sharing_ it with him. Dean's own hands go up to clutch Sam's on his chest, to feel the soft, familiar skin of his brother...the feeling that says _yes, I'm here, I'm not leaving...I've got you, you're safe_.

The roaring is leaving his ears and soon Sam's voice is filtering in. "It's okay Dean, I'm here with you...remember we talked about this. It's perfectly safe, thousands of people do it every day."

Dean coughs, throat dry and sore from the harsh breaths he'd tried to pull in. He looks around wildly, thinking how lame he was and how pathetic everyone else must think he is. He can feel the anxiety catching in his chest again, meeting eyes with several people looking their way. People watching them and watching Sam while he's completely defenseless, it sends him back into overdrive.

"Hey." Sam says softly, hand on his cheek pulling his face away and back to his familiar eyes. "Ignore them. We both know you could save all their sorry lives..."

Dean covers his face with one hand, and practically buries himself in Sam's skinny shoulder. "We are going to die." He whimpers, his other hand hanging onto Sam's so tight both their skin is turning white.

"No we're not." Sam says calmly, and Dean feels a hand in his hair. "If five vamps, or those twin poltergeists can't take us out then this stupid plane is not going to either."

"Sam..." Dean lets out his uncertainty.

"Dean only..."

"If you're about to give percentages on plane crashes then I don't want to hear it, I swear I will start screaming and I won't stop until the death trap lands correctly or otherwise."

"Okay okay." Sam laughs quietly. "Just think," Sam says, trying to sound optimistic, "At the end of this we'll get to see dad!"

"Oh joy." Dean mutters flatly into the collar of Sam's jacket.

"You'll get to see your baby..." Sam's voice goes low and enticing, breaking in that cute teenager way.

Dean smiles at that...that he was very much looking forward to indeed, if he had to find John another truck himself he would. He missed her, like he would miss his right hand. Missed her rumble, her smell, missed opening up the hood and messing around even if she was running perfectly. A month without Baby was a long time.

The plane trembles with turbulence, shaking Dean from his line of thought and making Sam grimace with the renewed strength of Dean's grip on his wrist.

"The hell Sam?" He sputters, eyes shifting from one end of the plane to the other, as if expecting a crack to appear in the walls or the nose to be torn right off.

Sam sighs. It had worked for a minute, distract Dean and he'd calm down..."Our luck is shit." He complains drily. "It's just turbulence Dean, I promise, read all about it...perfectly normal."

"There is nothing perfect about it." Dean snaps back, breaths speeding up, face going whiter.

"Just calm down." Sam says seriously, hand falling from his hair and around his neck to pat reassuringly on his chest. "Just breathe and concentrate on something better."

"On something better? How about let's concentrate on living? Sam!" He squeezes his eyes shut as the plane shakes again, his grip on his younger brother and the arm rest tightens.

Silence sits between them for a moment, and Dean finds himself panicking about Sam instead. God, he's such a horrible big brother! This was new for Sam too, he was the younger one, he had to right to be scared, not Dean. And now he was having to be strong because Dean was too weak to handle this. It was shameful, so weak, so wrong...Dean's heart beats faster with the damning guilt.

"Dean, you remember that time we were hunting that ghost in Maryland? The one that split my head open?"

Dean stops at that. Of course he remembers, he would never forget...Sam's scream of agony, the blood pouring down his face.

"I remember." He says shakily.

"Remember afterwards, you were stitching me up." Dean opens his mouth to respond but Sam keep going in a steady, even voice. "It was a huge cut right behind my ear, it hurt like hell, I thought I was gonna pass out.

"But you wouldn't let me because of concussions and blood loss, but god it hurt, I couldn't even see straight."

Dean is silent as Sam's familiar voice steers him towards calmer waters.

"Do you remember what you told me to do? You said, sing Sammy, sing something for me, it'll help my hand be steadier. I believed you..."

"You sang Tuesday's Gone by Lynard Skynard." Dean says quietly, and Sam can hear him smiling.

Sam nods, "Yup, and it wasn't until after you were done that I realized what you were doing, singing made me think about something else, made me feel something else than just the pain."

"Dammit Sammy." Dean groans, "When did you get so smart?"

"Sing me something." His little brother demands instead.

So Dean does, he just hums, but it's enough to let him feel the rumble in his chest, to think about the words and the way the lyrics make him feel.

"Metallica? Really?" Sam asks after a bit.

"You didn't specify a song." Dean bitches back.

"Whatever." Sam says, look off out the window hiding the affectionate smile on his lips.

Dean hums on and off the rest of the long flight.

...

Dean sets foot on ground again and wants to kiss the asphalt. He would have if it was just him and Sam. Instead he and his younger brother stand together off to the side on the landing strip. They silently agree to enjoy the last few moments alone together before they go find their dad. They breathe in the chilly air, watching the clouds of warmth mist in the cold.

The breeze is sharp, cruelly finding all the openings in the boys clothes making them shiver. They're watching the last few rays of the sun slip behind the horizon, they're exhausted and jet lagged...but grateful to have reached the end of their little adventure.

No words, just a look from one brother that says. _I'm glad we're still alive_. Another look from the other brother that says, _drama queen...same Dee, same_.

They shoulder their duffles and head off to find their father. He's standing outside the airport on the curb leaning against the impala, looking just the same, looking impatient and like he's got better things to do...just the same as always. He straightens when he sees his sons coming towards him.

"Hey boys." He calls, "Hurry up, we'll get some supper."

"Great, I'm starving." Dean yells back, smirking at Sam who rolls his eyes and scoffs, knowing just a few minutes ago while that plane was landing Dean would have puked even water up.

"How was your flight?" John asks, as they reach him. Sam stalks right past him opens the car door and chucks his bag in, then turns and gives their father an uninterpretable look.

"Dad. We are never ever. Ever. Flying. Again." He states flatly, calmly climbs into the back seat and shuts Baby's door.

John looks to his oldest son in bewilderment, Dean shrugs his shoulders innocently.

...the end.

Thanks so much for reading everyone! Season 13 here we come!

REVIEW SINCE THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER?! ;););):):):)


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